Trust No One
by Phantom Gypsy
Summary: Turns out assassins are not the most dangerous breed out there.
1. Trust No One

**_FYI: While I cannot lay claim to Altair or any of the other characters in AC, Nadirah is my OC. So don't go looking for her in the game...you won't find her =P _**

**_Trust No One_**

The midday sun, shielded by neither wind nor cloud, mercilessly smoldered the parched earth below. Even within the city walls of Jerusalem, maintained and inhabited by thousands upon thousands of people, horse troughs and wells dried within the hour. Pools of dust took flight around the treading feet of the people, covering the land in a fine film of powdered earth. For most of the day, shadows took refuge in the undiscovered corners of the world until evening.  
Save one.

The woman glanced away from the small market stand, catching one of the rarest sights in the world; a white shadow, invisible to the crowd as it walked among them. A single unwilling blink, and the shadow disappeared.

The woman spun on her heel, abruptly abandoning the marketplace with a swift, purposeful gait. Her silken veil fluttered as she walked, disguising her exceptional beauty as a homely reflection of the dusty city and its dull inhabitants. Her long, dark dress was uncomfortable in the heat, but allowed her to remain as subtle as she pleased.

She finally came to the bustling market square of the noble district, with tall palm trees and a magnificent fountain glimmering in the center. Standing beneath the shadow of one of the trees was a man cloaked in grey, only his eyes and hands exposed to the sandy air. The woman watched him from the other side of the plaza, and when convinced he was only surveying the world as a statue, she casually approached him.

"Nadirah," the man hardly moved. "It is good to see you again. I trust you have been well?"

"Well enough, Ka'im." She hesitated, glancing once more around the market square.

The man, Ka'im, followed her green eyes as she looked past him.. "You look…troubled. Is something wrong?"

Nadirah's voice was hard and unquestioning, a pretense she used when speaking with members of the creed. "Altaïr is in the city."

Ka'im's chocolate eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name. "I suppose it could be possible. The man is made of smoke."

"Possible? I saw him."

"Then he is becoming careless in his ways," Ka'im gave the slightest of winks.

Nadirah's expression of stone did not falter. "What is he here for?"

"Ah, but the question should be 'who.'" She rolled her eyes, ready to seek out another more cooperative member of the creed to get her answers. "I don't know, to be honest," Ka'im told her simply, sensing her patience was growing short. "Rumor has it Al Mualim has given him great tasks to complete; a chance to redeem himself among the Brotherhood."

Nadirah nearly snorted. "The man should be given no such chances."

"Since when has he fallen out of favor with you?

With her cunning green eyes, it was the clear that the beautiful woman was calculating something within her thoughts.

"You do not fear him?" she asked quietly. "The man sees no one as either friend or foe, and holds all of our lives in his hands. And you want to patronize him?"

Ka'im cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowing into view as he frowned. "Such things are forbidden by the creed."

Nadirah almost laughed at the man. "Since when have you ever known words to stop him?"

Ka'im, now exposed by the shifting sun, stepped back into the shadow of the palm tree, never taking his eyes off the woman before him. "You should see him again. I think you will find he is not the merciless killer you believe him to be."

The first toll of the city's alarm bells made Nadirah grin beneath her veil. Somewhere in Jerusalem, a soul had been claimed.

"But a killer nonetheless," she said indifferently and turned away, watching as the people of the square began to panic and guards rushed through the narrow stone streets, swords drawn.

High above, the bell towers rang deep into the night.

* * *

**A/N: An older story, but still entertains me to read it from time to time. Assassin's Creed fans will enjoy, I'm sure ^_^**


	2. Midnight Sand

There was nothing fluttery or delicate about the way she moved. The blood-red silk that flowed about her as she danced flared dangerously close to the men, enticing them with each graceful pirouette. Not one eye strayed away from the bare patches of her skin or the glittering jewels and dancing gold charms that bewitched the audience even further, like fish to a baited hook.

One spectator stood farther away, as if he was all too aware of the fiery temptation dancing in the middle of the room. Hiding in the shadow of the doorway, his face remained concealed within the darkness of his white hood. Altaïr had seen this prospect before, but unlike the other mesmerized men in the room, he watched Nadirah as if she were a venomous snake.

With his hawk-like eyes, Altaïr watched every step she made, every rhythm she kept. Slowly, unwillingly, a rage began to swell inside of him. Flexing his gauntleted hand, the assassin began to wonder why he should not take her life after she had nearly ended his own.

* * *

_The dust was in his eyes, his teeth, everywhere. Biting down on the gritty sand and ignoring the taste of blood on his lips, Altaïr_ _glanced behind him, panting. His trail was clear, save for a thin line of crimson that ran along the rooftops. His sword was dripping with the blood of nearly thirty soldiers and his once-white tunic was now the color of dark rust._

_ Sweat began to leak into his eyes, blurring the world into a burning haze. For a brief moment, Altaïr tried to recall the error of his plan…but there was none. His approach, technique, and position…his target had been within arms reach..._

_ "There he is!" _

_ Altaïr swung his sword around, impaling the man without ever looking at him. Before the soldier had time to take his dying breaths, the assassin took flight again, sprinting over the scorching rooftops._

_ "Assassin!"_

_ "Stop him!" _

_ An arrow whistled by Altaïr's hood. Instinctively, he grabbed for a knife at his belt, hurling it into the archer's neck with inhuman accuracy. _

_ Launching himself onto a windowsill, Altaïr climbed furiously, ignoring the shouts and rocks being thrown at his back and hands. In the cobblestone streets below, the crowd scattered like spooked cattle, stampeding one another to escape. _

_The building grew higher into the sky, and __Altaïr scaled it with ease, separating himself from his pursuers. Upon the rooftop, he was relieved to find his target had not made it far. The lumbering, nerve-stricken man was being escorted through the city by a group of Templars; a minor hindrance for Altaïr and his blade. _

_ The metal blade felt like ice against his throat. Instinct told Altaïr to spin and eliminate the guard, but something overrode the impulse. Instead, he remained a statue, convinced that if the person holding the blade were a soldier, he'd be dead by now. _

_ With a deliberate grace, the small dagger slowly caressed the hollow of his neck, tracing a seducing path along his veins. Altaïr stared lifelessly at the city below, disbelieving that she could really be the one. _

_ "Feel familiar?" she whispered in his ear. _

_ Altaïr went to move and the dagger pierced into his skin, enough to draw a small river of blood. _

_ "Nadirah, don't," he growled._

_ "Why?"_

_ Altaïr watched as his target strayed further and further away. "You shouldn't interfere in matters you do not understand." _

_ "You'd kill a hundred people to get to one man? You left a path of slaughtered bodies throughout the city, half of them citizens."_

_ "If you hadn't given the alarm, it would never have come to this."_

_ From behind her black mask, the woman glared at Altaïr's white hood. "Whether you were exposed or not, an assassin should never be seen, let alone followed through a trail of shed blood."_

_ "I do what must be done." There was dangerous venom in his voice._

_ "You serve your own bloodlust and nothing more." _

_ Somewhere near by, the guards began shouting, no doubt having of spotted them by now. Altaïr waited patiently for Nadirah to lower her blade. When she did not, he slowly turned his cold gaze towards her, uncaring of the second line of blood now dripping down his neck. _

_ "You think you'll kill me?" he asked mockingly. _

_ "No," she replied. "But someone will."_

_ She threw her entire weight into Altaïr, knocking the assassin off his feet and over the edge of the rooftop. As the heated desert wind began blowing across her face, Nadirah watched him plummet into the city below; into the hell he had created._

_

* * *

_

She missed a step.

Altaïr's steady gaze was the only one that caught the blunder. She had seen him. There was a sudden change in her gait, a tense knotting of her muscles and body frame. Altaïr didn't really care that she knew. The only thing that bothered him was how her body captivated him when under stress, reminding him of a once sadistic intimacy that should have been forbidden.

Chasing away the more lewd memories of years past, Altaïr quietly slipped out of the doorway, disappearing from the audience. Behind him, he left Nadirah with a haunting image of his white hood and hidden face.

* * *

**A/N: Altair is such a badass. Period. **


	3. Of White Fire

Nadirah stealthily lowered herself into the bureau, almost matching the grace and quietness of the assassins that resided here. The latticework of shadows kept the room cool and she stopped to sip a handful of water from the trickling fountain. She had not bothered to adorn her usual black garb that masked her face and hid her sinful beauty from the world. Instead, her dark wavy hair swung freely behind her back and her crimson outfit from the night before mocked any kind of modesty.

Looking around her, Nadirah always thought it ironic how welcoming the bureau seemed to be. Miniature palm trees and ferns flourished in the shade and water and lush rugs and pillows were neatly piled for the weary-footed. Standing within these walls, many memories began to flood back to her. Some wrought a grin to her face. Most, reminded her of deep scars embedded into her flesh.

Her slippers muted her steps as she walked towards the gaping doorway that led into the next room. The thick aroma of incense immediately began to dull her senses, just as its smoke clouded the flames of the lanterns that hung about the room. There was a large rug to cover most of the brick floor and a long table against the far wall, lined with wooden, fragile-looking chairs. Standing behind a wooden bar that ran the length of the room was a single man dressed in black and white robes, silently reading an ancient book.

"Peace and safety, Malik." Nadirah made sure her words were clear, for fear of being mistaken for an enemy.

The man looked up from the crackled, stained pages of the book, his eyes suddenly wide.

"Nadirah? This is a surprise. I did not think we would ever see you again."

She strolled into the room, glancing around at the various jars and manuscripts lining the shelves on the walls. "I was hoping you would not have to, either," she said.

"Not have to? But you should know, any man would be fortunate to see you. I am glad to see you."

Nadirah slowly walked over to the counter, grinning playfully at Malik. "And yet there are some that would see me, but not be glad."

Malik frowned, though he was enjoying their game of riddles and how she leaned over the edge of the counter towards him. "And who is this poor soul?"

"One of your own."

The bureau leader's face darkened and Nadirah knew the lightheartedness of their reunion had ended.

"Ah, Altaïr. Yes, the last time he spoke of you, he did not seem pleased." Malik turned to retrieve a pitcher of wine off of the shelves. "Is it my place to ask why?"

Something else suddenly caught her attention. "Malik!" she cried. He stopped pouring the crimson liquid, looking strangely at her. "Your arm!"

He quickly glanced at the shoulder her gaze was fixed on, as if he had forgotten his lack of limb.

"Oh this. It is an old wound now. One of the smaller prices that were paid for a failed mission." Nadirah took the clay cup he offered her, frowning at its dark waters inside. "My brother, may his soul rest in peace, was the true loss."

Her heart plummeted to her feet as she recalled his younger brother's face. He had been friendly and kind enough, yet still naïve in the world of the assassins.

"I am so sorry, Malik," she said. "It breaks my heart to hear this."

He seemed to cast aside her condolences with his distant eyes, as though he were lost in a different time. "Yes. I will forever miss him. But it also angers me to think he was the sacrifice of Altaïr's arrogant deeds."

Like sunlight creeping in on a shadowed floor, Nadirah's entire face darkened, her green eyes glittering with a fierce intensity that Malik had never seen from her before.

"This is why Altaïr and I do not speak," she muttered. "He has become a man of betrayal, both to his brethren, and to himself."

"You would deny him because of his disobedience to the creed?" Malik asked, sounding surprised.

"Among other things. If people are going to try and justify what is right and what is wrong in this world, they can at least adhere to their own rules."

Malik smiled. "No wonder he spoke ill of you."

Nadirah gave him a knowing look, her vibrant lips stained with the rouge paint she had worn most of her life capturing Malik's eye. Watching as she sipped her wine, he wondered what else Altaïr had done to incur her wrath. It was a beautifully dangerous expression she wore, but not easily ignored by any man. How could Altaïr have turned away from owning such a prize most men would have vied over for one night?

"I heard a rumor not long after Altaïr and I separated," she said, "that he fell from a great height during a mission."

"It was true. He returned to Masayaf with a badly broken leg and arm, and an arrow in his shoulder. He did not explain much, but said that the arrow caught him off guard and he fell from a rooftop."

Nadirah's eyes shifted again, taking on a distant, vague look. Her voice was void of any hint of emotion. "Pity it did not break his spirit. A lesson of humility would not have gone amiss. Did it cost him his target?"

Malik nodded. "Yes. Al Mualim was very upset, but Altaïr managed to reclaim the man some months later." He paused. "It is not unheard of. Even the best assassins may be killed from a sudden stumble and fall."

A long, wavy strand of her hair fell forward, trailing along the wooden bar as she leaned closer to Malik. "Yet for having sacrificed much on your account for some of his most unforgivable deeds, you seem to be at ease with him, Malik. Or perhaps I have grown bitter in my old age."

The former assassin chuckled. "At first, I did not understand why Al Mualim kept Altaïr alive. For many months, I hated the man." He paused, as though reminding himself why this was no longer the case. "Yet the man that he was, and who he is now cannot be compared."

Nadirah stared at him in disbelief. "Ka'im said something similar."

"You did not believe him?" She shook her head. "And why should you, until you have seen for yourself?"

The stunning woman turned her green eyes upon him, her face stern. "No. It is better that he and I should never meet again, Malik."

"Then why are you here?" a voice demanded harshly.

Nadirah did not move. On the floor, she could see the shadow of the hooded figure standing in the entryway.

* * *

**A/N: If I were Nadirah, my reaction upon hearing Altair enter would be: "Oh sh*t." **


	4. The Lost and the Damned

_He was a challenge. And she enjoyed it._

_ From the first time she danced before him, Nadirah was immediately entranced by the assassin's steadfast indifference. She had singled him out in the room, focusing much of her dance towards his direction. Glittering jewels, free-flowing hair, and a graceful body evoked no reaction from him. Fascinated by his impassiveness, Nadirah knew better than to give up her pursuit of seduction now, for the art of temptation was also a game of time. There was a reason he was still watching. _

_ Later that night, in the early hours of dawn, Nadirah found herself walking in a shadow in the moonlight. The city was quiet, save for a few stray cats and the homeless madmen that wandered in the alleys. Above her, the shadow flitted gracefully from ledge to wall, haunting her every step as she made her way into an open plaza. A smug grin crept onto the side of her lips as she stopped before the giant fountain in the center of the square, listening contently to the trickling waters. Somewhere nearby in the darkness, a figure landed hard on their feet. _

_ "You must be an assassin." _

_ He stepped out of the shadows, into the flickering light of a fire lamp hanging from a wooden scaffold. Nadirah turned to face him, her black robes whispering as a dry, hot breeze blew through the plaza._

_ He was an impressive man: tall, hooded, powerful. An array of knives and a sword at his belt forebode of his craft. His tunic was a dirty white, stained with the dirt and blood of the world, and belted by a single red sash. _

_ It was she who made the first move, slowly sauntering towards him with her arms crossed. A dangerous curiosity gripped her, as though she were looking upon one of the great and strange beasts that came from distant lands. He watched her move towards him with the same coldness and stillness that had captivated her earlier._

_ "I've been told you assassins are the most dangerous of men," she said softly, now only feet away from the man. _

_ He remained silent, his dark hood following her movements as she began to encircle him. Secretly pleased with herself, she took pleasure in watching the light from the fire play with shadows on his tunic, across his broad back and shoulders. From atop his left shoulder, she reached out and took a small throwing knife from its sheath pocket. Still, he did not move. _

_ Standing before him again, Nadirah blatantly tucked the stolen blade within her robe, the moonlight hinting at her flash of pale skin. _

_ "I am not to be teased." _

_ His rich, deep voice penetrated the very pores of her skin. Looking up into his hood, she found the most piercing, dark eyes gazing back at her. She always hated when the game of seduction turned back on her._

_ "Well, then," she said softly, creeping her face into his hood until she could feel the heat from his skin, "let us stop playing." _

_ Her lips pressed into his neck, and his hands gripped her waist, finally inducing the response she was looking for. It was the first of many moments that she would later come to regret when lips were replaced with blades._

_

* * *

_

_"_Altaïr?" Malik sounded surprised. "I thought you would be halfway to Masayaf by now."

The assassin did not take his eyes off of Nadirah, who was still refusing to look his direction.

"I had matters to attend to." A pause and his voice turned harsher. "You still didn't answer my question, Nadirah."

She stayed quiet, but turned around to face him, a scowl deepening on both their faces as they stared each other down.

"Leave, Malik," Altaïr demanded.

Malik hesitated and Nadirah saw him debating whether or not it was a good idea to leave her alone with the assassin.

"Altaïr, I don't think—"

"It's ok, Malik," Nadirah said, casting what she hoped was a reassuring glance. In truth, she was lying. There was nothing that could be done to stop Altaïr should he wish to kill her.

Malik left without another word, stopping beside Altaïr momentarily to give him a meaningful look. The assassin ignored him, crushing any reassurance that Nadirah had meant to give the bureau leader. A second later, and she was alone with Altaïr.

For the span of a breath, she feared for her life and hoped what Malik said was true: that Altaïr was a changed man, and not the bloodthirsty, headstrong killer he used to be. Then she dismissed the hope with a cynical thought: his blade either had her name on it, or it did not. She would not try to talk her way out of her fate.

"For wanting to avoid me, the assassin bureau is an odd place for you to be," Altaïr growled.

"Likewise," she returned, the image of him watching her dance the night before still vivid in her thoughts. "I also thought it strange that you were not already back in Masayaf." He fell silent, and she knew a rage was building within him. "Kill me then, if you wish."

"Of all the reasons I should, I have none to justify it," he returned.

Nadirah blinked, somewhat surprised. "Then why did you come last night?"

Altaïr paused for a moment. "I couldn't tell you." His voice softened. "To be entertained, I suppose."

She huffed at his words, but was still puzzled by his tone of voice. "Have you come now to ask me to dance for you, then?" she mocked. His eyes darted up to hers, as though he meant to say something. "You're a man of little wit, Altaïr. I'm surprised Al Mualim still favors you; even after the pain you have cost Malik and the number of failures you bring from your pigheaded perseverance." She stopped, realizing she was taunting the tiger that could maul her. "It seems not even your brush with death was enough to show you the error of your ways."

Altaïr's face darkened at this, and his voice was tinged with venom again. "What you did was not meant to teach me of my wrongdoings. It was done as betrayal, in the hopes that I would be killed."

"Why then, haven't you killed me? Or expose me to the brotherhood as the murderer you so ardently call me?"

The assassin moved towards her. "This does not concern the brotherhood. It is not vengeance that I seek."

His tone made Nadirah believe otherwise. Altaïr stopped in front of her, looking down at her with a pair of piercing, dark eyes. There were new scars on the face of his skin.

"What then?" she asked, suddenly reminded of the way he began to overpower her those years ago. She could feel the scars on her back, remembered the way he would demand her body with the blade if the bruises did not persuade her enough.

"Forgiveness."

Nadirah replayed the word in her head over and over, not sure if she had heard or imagined it.

"Forgive me. I was wrong."

It seemed too simple of an apology for what had been done in the past, but Nadirah knew an apology from an assassin—from Altaïr—was not lightly given.

"If it would ease your conscious," Nadirah stammered, not really sure of what to say.

"It would."

There was no mistaking his voice. Despite the grudges she desperately wanted to hold on to, the disbelief in that Altaïr had changed, she could not deny it. The man standing before her could not be compared to the Altaïr she knew.

"They weren't lying," she whispered to herself. "You have changed."

Altaïr stood soundlessly and they listened to each other breathe for hardly a moment. Looking up into his hood, Nadirah slowly leaned forward, aligning her lips to his. Just as their skins touched, there was a sudden "click" and a sharp blade between her ribs made her stop short. It hadn't pierced her skin, but the pressure was enough to make her gasp in pain.

Confused, she glanced down at Altaïr's left hand, where his hidden blade now replaced where his fourth finger should have been.

"No." She looked up at the sound of his voice. His eyes were stern, his face dark.

"I, too, once thought assassins were the most dangerous." Nadirah frowned as her words were echoed back to her.

"Now I know better."

He swiftly darted his hand beneath her robes, retrieving the small throwing knife she had stolen from him years ago.

Silently, the assassin left the bureau, erasing the memories of Nadirah from his mind forever, and disappearing into the world.

* * *

**A/N: The End! I have to say, I love the way this ends. Neither of them are able to forgive or convince the other, and both are too badly scarred to believe anything the other says. Gah! Fun fun ^_^ I'd be humbled to read some reviews from you fellow AC fans! **


End file.
